The Spirit Of The RoseGardens
by sleepyowlet
Summary: This is about Anora's childhood in Gwaren and later in Denerim. She thinks about having friends, her parents and how she should be.


Title: The Spirit Of The Rose-Gardens

Rating: G

Mood: sad, thoughtful

Words: ~1000

Author: sleepyowlet

Disclaimer:

Summary: Anora as a child after the death of her mother thinks about her father, other children, and gets to know Cailan.

Babblerama: Dunno, this kinda glomped me from behind when I was sorting through Loghain's lines for the mod and came upon those where he tells the Warden about her having been a lonely child.

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**The Spirit Of The Rose-Gardens**

by sleepyowlet

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Sometimes she feels as if there's an invisible wall between her and the other children. She doesn't belong, doesn't fit. She is different.

So she can only watch them as they race across the courtyard, chasing dragons and ogres. She had tried once, just once, to join their games, but their faces had become cold and sullen, fists clenched at their sides, and they had only stared at her – until she had turned around and left.

Her mother had always noticed when she was sad, and had comforted her, had taken her to her favourite spot, the rose-gardens, and had distracted her with songs and tales about the bright flowers growing there. The sun-rays that fell through the protective roof of the bower formed of old honeysuckle plants made her mother's hair shimmer like gold, and the green of her dress blended into the grass and the leaves...

The servants had called her the Spirit of the Rose-Gardens, but only when they thought nobody was listening. And sometimes, like now, when Anora was sad, she would still go and curl up in the bower, and sometimes it felt like her mother's spirit was still there, sometimes she could still hear her gentle voice in the rustle of the leaves above her, and the wind played with her hair, like her mother used to.

This was the only place she ever allowed herself to cry, in this place her father would never see – since her mother had died he hadn't set foot here; as if he feared the spirit she took comfort in. For him Anora always tried to be brave.

Sometimes he smoothed a hand over her hair, or gently grasped her shoulder, but he never held her like her mother had, never whispered comforting words. The servants called him the Hero of River Dane, and sometimes she found it hard to remember that she was his daughter. He had always been gone, everybody said that the King depended on him, so she barely knew him. She knew that her mother had liked to drink tea in the morning, with just a dash of milk, and that she liked to wear green dresses. She had liked to sing, but only to Anora, which made her feel special. She had loved to tell old Alamarri legends, and had liked the small birds in her gardens better than the loud dogs in their kennels. She had no idea what her father liked. Did he even like her?

Anora doubted it. But perhaps he would, if she was brave.

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On the journey to Denerim she found out that he liked the dogs, so she tried to like them too, even if they still scared her. He liked his soldiers, and he liked sitting near the camp-fire listening to them banter, admonishing them to be polite when he noticed that she was near. He liked sparring with his men too, so she picked up a sword and tried to imitate what she had seen. He had laughed when he had seen that, and had started to teach her.

These moments had become precious to her, she felt connected to him when he gently but firmly corrected her stance and movements. He also liked maps, and he taught her to read them in the evenings in the guttering light of a few candles in his tent.

When she had crept out of her bedroll and into his when she had felt cold and lonely, he hadn't said anything when he had found her there later, had simply joined her, and she had slept curled up against him, feeling warm and protected.

She had found out that he did like her, that he simply didn't know what to do with a daughter. So she taught him how to do her pigtails, and she braided the hair at the sides of his face. She taught him about good-night kisses and good-night stories, and found that she liked his better than her mother's, as they were full of adventure, danger and blood, and a young prince that continuously fell off his horse and hit his head.

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The city of Denerim was huge, confusing and loud, and people gawked at her as she sat on her father's horse before him on the way to the palace. And the smell! Would she ever get used to this? She already missed the quiet, fragrant gardens of her home.

But then they arrived at the royal palace and she was shown to her room and then around the complex, before the King and her father introduced her to Cailan.

The young prince was quite like the one in her father's stories. Anora had stared uncomfortably at the younger boy until he grinned at her and had asked her to play with him. Anora thought hard for a moment and suggested that they went hunting for ogres – something she had watched the children in the Keep do quite often. Cailan nodded sagely and said that they should keep the country safe from ogres as was their duty – and that he had seen some in the wine-cellar.

Later she lay in her bed after receiving a thorough scolding from her father (they had made a bit of a mess), but she didn't mind. For the first time in her life she had someone she could call a friend, someone to have adventures with, someone who didn't care that she was the daughter of a Teyrn.

Her window went out into the palace-gardens, and as she finally closed her eyes, she smiled. The voice of her mother was still in the trees, and her songs still lived in the delicate breasts of little birds. The Spirit of the Rose-Gardens would always be with her.

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Thanks for reading, please tell me what you think!


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